


Missing, Presumed Lost

by Wldwmn



Series: Fortunes of War [3]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dialogue Heavy, F/M, Fear, Future Fic, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Mild Sexual Content, Newt stays home with the kids and consults, Tina goes to fight, Wartime, dad!Newt connects with the kids, like really mild, married, so dialogue heavy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 18:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9198491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wldwmn/pseuds/Wldwmn
Summary: Even at the very end of conflict, things can go terribly wrong. With so much to lose, Newt hopes this isn't what will happen.





	

**Author's Note:**

> First off, this piece got out of control in terms of length. Second, there is so much talking I think I need to bite the bullet and take a screenwriting course.
> 
> Anyway, this is the third piece in the "Carelessness" sequence, which I've decided to group into a series. But as with the other two, this piece can stand alone. It takes place far in the future from the other two.

When the first letter arrives, it is most noticeable for the official seal on the flap. It indicates that Tina has received something from Magical Law Enforcement, the auror division of the Ministry of Magic. She slits it open with a butter knife, and fumbles for a moment before extracting the message. Newt watches her silently, chewing his toast as she reads and re-reads the note. At last he swallows, and asks “What is it, my dear?”

 

“They changed my working status,” she answers after a short pause. “I’ve been put back on active duty.” Her expression is puzzled.

 

Newt is too stunned to reply, but nods firmly when she asks him to come with her the next day to the Ministry. To sort this all out, she says.

 

###

 

“What is the reasoning behind this?” Tina asks the following day, pointing to the message she’d brought with her. It is resting now on the desk between herself and her two superiors, a man and a woman. Newt is sitting beside her, silent for the time being.

 

The woman leans forward and smiles, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Mrs. Scamander, both the muggle and wizard wars have reached fever pitch. We need you. We’ve been recalling nearly everyone for the next push.”

 

“I’m already on half retirement!” Tina snaps. “I’m in my forties! I have three children, all under the age of majority. You can’t possibly think I’m suitable for reactivation for **combat**!”

 

The woman sighs. “Your situation is far from unknown to us. But your dueling skills are legendary, Mrs. Scamander. You are one of the few people around to face off against Grindelwald alone and walk away from it. We need someone like you where the fighting is.” She stops there, and sits back again.

 

A man Tina is more familiar with raises his hands in a non-threatening gesture. “Nothing you stated is incorrect, Tina,” he says. “And of course, it is within your rights to refuse reactivation. There will, however, be attendant repercussions if you do.”

 

“Oh yes, I know,” Tina says darkly. “I’ll be dishonorably discharged. I’ll lose all of the seniority and standing I’ve spent my life building up, I’ll lose my pension, and I’ll lose any possibility of re-hire in any auror division on the **planet**. Well, if that’s the route I must take, then-“

 

“Please,” the woman chimes in, “Have a care, Mrs. Scamander.” She frowns, and continues. “We’re still losing good people every day. _Young_ people, who now will never have a chance at seniority or a pension… or a family, for that matter. Someone as powerful and experienced as you by their side could be what tips the scales in their favor, and brings them home safely-“

 

“That will be quite enough of that,” Newt interjects, speaking for the first time. “I will not sit here and listen to outright manipulation. As though my wife hasn’t already given you two decades of faithful service, shedding literal ‘blood, sweat, and tears’ for her work. As if she hasn’t been truer to you than you have been to her, on more than one occasion I personally can name, as I was there to witness them!” Newt pauses, and inhales deeply. “If my wife chooses to agree to your request, that’s her decision. But no more attempts at emotional blackmail, period.”

 

“Newt,” Tina murmurs, “I can speak for myself.” She takes his hand, and squeezes to make him look at her.

 

He does so, and then nods. “I know you can, dear,” he whispers, squeezing back.

 

The man tries again. “Please? Will you think it over?” he asks, but Tina keeps her eyes on Newt for a long moment.

 

“When would I have to leave?” she finally says, turning back to the pair across the table. There is a look of surprise on every face but hers.

 

“Not more than two days from now, Tina,” the man says quickly, as though he fears she will change her mind, “The need is great.”

 

“I’ll go,” Tina says. “I’ll go,” she repeats, and Newt frowns.

 

###

 

The rest of the day is frosty politeness between Newt and Tina. He can’t remember the last time he felt so out-of-place beside his wife; the comfort of being married for well over a decade can throw any awkwardness into even sharper relief.

 

He knows it is her decision. He’s learned to trust her judgment, which is so rarely wrong. But a treacherous part of him is angry. This whole situation makes him feel like she is abandoning her family. Abandoning him.

 

Oddly, he finds himself remembering the day they were married.

 

_They had written their own vows, but he’d be the first to admit that his were utter waffle. He was so stunned that she’d agreed to be stuck with him forever that the knack of expressing his gratitude eluded him. Still, he can’t have done such a bad job. She was smiling brightly at him when he finished._

_Then she started her vows, and he grinned. Oh yes, hers were sounding far more promising. Then she stopped for a moment, and he looked at her with a question in his eyes._

_“Newt, the nature of my work means that I can’t guarantee to always put you first. But I **promise** that when the decision is mine to make, I will always choose you. I will always pick our life, and us, when the choice is mine. I **swear** it.”_

 

This is the first time in their married life that he has doubted her word. And he is heartsick about it.

 

###

 

Their children (even their eldest, fifteen year old Angela) are in bed by the time Tina carefully climbs down into the open case. Newt had gone down an hour earlier, ostensibly to feed the creatures, but she senses he is avoiding her. She can’t have that, not now. There’s too little time.

 

What she originally intended to be a long and earnest discussion turns into a frenzied lovemaking interlude on the floor of the little cabin. They finish rather quickly, twined around each other and panting.

 

“Merlin’s beard,” Newt gasps, “But it’s been a while since we did that.”

 

Tina chuckles at him. “You needn’t make it sound like you haven’t had it in months, Newt. It was just last Saturday!” she scolds lightly, combing her fingers through the sweaty fringe of his hair.

 

“Still,” he mutters slyly. “That counts as a while for us.”

 

This time she really laughs aloud. “All right, I can’t argue that one. Being married with children never slowed us down much in that respect.”

 

“Not in the least,” Newt agrees, and cuddles closer to her. The sweat is quickly cooling on their bodies, and a chill is settling in.

 

“Newt,” Tina begins, in a different voice that fills him with dread, “If I don’t come back-“

 

“No,” he tries to object. “We are not talking about this right now.”

 

“It **has** to be now, my love,” she persists. “I leave first thing in the morning.”

 

“I know you do,” he says, and can’t keep the ache he feels out of his voice.

 

She takes a deep breath and starts again. “If I don’t come back… I know you’ll be all right. I know strangers look at us and think I’m the tough one, but I’ve relied on your strength when mine was nowhere to be found and you’ve never faltered. You’ve never failed me, Newt, so I **know** you’ll be all right. But I need you to promise not to hide away from our children.”

 

“What?” he says, but she is already continuing.

 

“If I am lost, our babies will be grieving. And they’ll be so bewildered, being young. I need you to swear that you won’t retreat from them. You have to bear it, for their sake. Hug them all up and don’t let go,” she says in a firm voice, but he can see the tears gathering in her eyes. She snuggles closer, anxious for there not to be even a breath of distance between them now.

 

_I will always pick our life, and us, when the choice is mine. I **swear** it._

 

He remembers her vow, and echoes it. “I promise, Tina. I swear it.”

 

###

 

Tina is gone for one month when Newt is approached on behalf of the Wizard War Department. His expertise in the use of magical creatures as weapons is unmatched, they tell him. He is needed because it is happening again, they say.

 

“Absolutely not!” he says at once. “I will advise anyone you feel it is necessary to send to me. I will consult on any creature you care to name. But my wife is already on combat duty, and I am the sole caretaker of our three minor children. I cannot leave them,” he says, and his voice catches slightly. “I **will not** leave them.”

 

They make another request for him to personally appear, but he doesn’t budge. Once upon a time he might have, but now is not then. This is not thirty years ago on the Eastern Front, when he had only his own life to lose. They must accept him in a limited capacity, or do without him altogether.

 

So they accept. He is contacted with regular owls (and occasional in-person visits) on creature matters, but they do not try to ask him again to leave the children.

 

###

 

Tina is gone for two months when victory is declared in Europe. Newt breathes a sigh of relief, believing the worst to be over. But she still does not return.

 

###

 

When the second letter arrives, it is most noticeable for the black edging around the flap. It indicates the worst kind of bad news, and Newt doesn’t even want to touch it, much less open it. But he does.

 

“ _My dear Mr. Scamander,_

_It is with the greatest sorrow I write to you that your wife, Porpentina Esther Goldstein Scamander, participated in a battle that led to great loss of life on both sides. At the present time your wife is missing, presumed lost. We have very little further information for you. Should you still wish to inquire, however, you may contact me personally. Until that eventuality, I remain,_

_Yours in sympathy,_

_Solomon Cadwallader, Auror, MLE, MoM_ ”

 

Life should stop, he thinks. The clock, the sun, his breath and his heart, they should all freeze after a letter like that. But he can hear the ticking of the mantle clock, and the thump of his own pulse in his ears. Everything seems to be just the same in the world.

 

Everything, that is, except this news that has slipped like a dagger through his body, slicing his heart neatly in two. And his future that now stretches before him like an endless black chasm, with the darkness only broken up by three tiny pinpricks of light.

 

Their children. Or does this mean they’re just **his** children, now?

 

Angela walks in very shortly after, and his eyes lift from the paper to acknowledge her. A plump baby and child, when she hit puberty their daughter had shot up like a beanstalk. She eventually became a fair doppelganger for her mother; the same tall, slender build hiding surprising strength, the same dark hair and determined expression. But it’s his own hazel eyes that stare back at him out of her face.

 

“Father,” she starts. She only calls him that when she’s trying to sound grown-up. “Father, what’s in that letter?”

 

“What letter?” he asks in turn, though it’s obvious which letter she means. He’s still holding it, for goodness’ sake.

 

“I’m the eldest, father. I have the right to know,” she says firmly. A hint of her mother’s power comes through, but he isn’t fooled. Angela still has many years before she will be quite so formidable.

 

And yet…

 

And yet she is the eldest. If he is truly alone, she will have to shoulder some responsibility she might have been spared otherwise. So perhaps she should see it.

 

“You may read it, then. But you must first promise not to tell the boys just yet.”

 

She looks at him oddly, but agrees. He hands the letter to her, and watches her eyes flick over the short text over and over as they fill with tears. “Papa, what does it mean?” she says, not bothering to try sounding so grown-up anymore in her shock.

 

“It says what it means, child,” he replies bluntly.

 

“But mummy can’t be-“ she breaks off, and Newt sees her choke on the word. “Mummy wouldn’t let herself get k-killed… she wouldn’t!”

 

“It may not have been her decision to make, Angela,” he says, and it comes out more sharply than he means it to. He suspects that is because he is admonishing himself, as well as her. “Anyway, it isn’t certain. It would say if they knew for certain.”

 

“But what are we going to do?” his daughter almost wails, and he shushes her.

 

“You and I are going to keep this to ourselves, for the time being. Your brothers’ shoulders are too narrow to be carrying this, especially if it turns out your mother is alive. And if she’s not… well, they’ll have to deal with it soon enough. I must give them a little more happiness first.” He takes one of her hands in his. “And I’ll need your help to do so, little angel. Will you help me?”

 

He watches Angela hurriedly brush her tears away with her other hand, and nod. “Of course, papa. Of course.”

 

###

 

Two weeks go by, and there is still no news, one way or the other. Some days Newt thinks he will go mad with the uncertainty. Other days he feels prepared to promise nearly anything if a tiny chance can remain that Tina is still alive.

 

He brings the children down into the case with him more often than before. They each have a job to do, although when it comes to the youngest, little Mattan, the “job” is usually to stay safely out of the way and not underfoot. He is still only three, after all.

 

(Tina had felt so strange for weeks that she was sure that she was going through “the change of life” when she’d finally gone off to the healer. She’d about fallen out of the examination chair when told that, no, actually another little Scamander was on the way.)

 

Newt grins as he watches his youngest toddle over to him carrying a disgruntled but tolerant niffler. “I see you’ve captured a little thief, Matt my boy,” Newt says in mock seriousness as he takes the niffler from him. “Well done you, catching such a dangerous criminal. You’ll be an auror like your mummy yet,” he says, without thinking.

 

“Mummy?” Mattan asks, “Is mummy back?”

 

For a second Newt can’t breathe at all. Angela comes up directly, however, and swings her little brother from the ground up to her hip. “Oof, you’re getting heavy my duck,” she says, using the pet name Tina always uses for her youngest. “Let’s see what we can find you for lunch, shall we?”

 

“Sang-witches!” Mattan yells, and claps his hands. Angela smiles, but then she looks pointedly at her father over her brother’s curls. Newt shakes his head a little, so she shrugs and carries Mattan away and up out of the case.

 

Newt finishes the last of the chores, and then cups his hands “Elias!” he calls. “Lunch time!” It is no more than a moment or two before he feels a small hand slip into his. He looks down and sees Tina’s warm brown eyes looking back up at him. Of the three children, only Elias got her eyes.

 

His heart and stomach lurch. If she is dead, will it hurt to look in his son’s eyes forever?

 

Elias, the middle child who will be ten in a month, is quiet as a mouse. He was never noisy, even as a baby. They wondered for a time if he might be mute, until one day (at the age of four) he began talking in complete sentences. When they asked what had taken him so long, he’d shrugged and answered, “I didn’t have anything to say.”

 

Tina has always made an effort to draw her quiet son out, which he doesn’t seem to mind. Newt likes to let Elias be silent when he wishes, which he also seems to appreciate.

 

But if it is only Newt now, he must do both. For Elias hasn’t said a single word since the morning his mother left.

 

“Are you hungry?” he prompts, and his son nods but still doesn’t speak. Newt sighs. He tries again. “Are you well, son? Is there anything you need to ask me?”

 

Elias takes a deep breath. “I know something is wrong,” he says softly, breaking ten weeks of silence. “I know you’ll tell me what it is, when it’s time. I won’t have to ask.”

 

Newt exhales sharply, and kneels to look his son in the eye. “That’s so, my boy. I’ll tell you things, and you won’t need to ask. But not everyone in the world can do that, Elias. They may not know the right time to tell you things. Some people will need **you** to fill the silence, even if it’s just with a question about something you need to know. Will you promise to try, son?”

 

Elias nods slowly after a moment. “If I can tell that I need to say something, I will.”

 

Newt clasps his shoulder proudly. “That’s all I ask.”

 

###

 

And so more days pass. More time is spent in the case with the creatures, and playing outside. More meals are passed with just the four of them, and everyone trying desperately not to look at Tina’s empty fifth chair. Newt is trying to hang in there, trying to keep busy, trying to gather his children to him and keep them feeling safe. But he feels like he’s slowly unraveling. He doesn’t know what will happen. He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold on.

 

All he knows is he has to keep trying. He’d promised.

 

###

 

It is the end of the third week when the worst May wind Newt can ever remember blows in from the east. It is loud and unseasonably cold, and brings clouds and darkness with it.

 

He can hear the trees loudly rustling in its wake, and the wailing as the wind circles their house, trying to find a way in. But there are no chinks or leaks; the Dorset home stays warm and snug, and it would take more than a wind to force its way in here.

 

After a wild evening of boisterous running around and games, Newt tucks all three children into bed. He uses the guest room with the matching twin beds; Elias in one, Angela in the other, and the trundle bed for Mattan on the floor. Lately they seem to find some comfort all sleeping in the same room.

 

Newt has not been sleeping well, not since the letter. But he gets what sleep he can, because he knows he must. He has too many loved ones, children and creatures, depending on him. He mustn’t fall apart…

 

…but the fear, that black chasm is still there ahead of him. The pinpricks of light have grown in strength, now more like candle flames, but it is unfair to ask his children to be his reason for living. His creatures might be more used to it, though, he thinks.

 

He still feels as though half his heart is missing.

 

Then, a peculiarly strong gust of wind blows open the kitchen door with a bang, and he jumps. He stands, and is about to take a step to investigate when the most welcome voice in the world calls out “Hello?” And he is rooted to the spot for some reason.

 

He doesn’t dare look. Just in case he is dreaming Tina’s voice, like he has over and over. He can’t bear to break the spell.

 

The voice calls again. “Newt? Are you home, sweetheart?”

 

He finally manages to croak a “Yes” out, and it is only seconds before she sweeps in to him. “There you are, my love,” she says in an easy tone, as if she’d only been away a few minutes to go food shopping.

 

He stares at her. There are dark smudges under her eyes that speak to lack of sleep, and a new scar near her collarbone she is obviously trying to hide. But her eyes are clear, and still the same comforting brown.

 

She smells of wind and of rain, the forest and the sea. And there is a twig in her hair. Newt laughs a little at that. Surely, no ghost would appear to him with a twig in her hair. His wife is real, and alive, and come home to him at last.

 

Tina senses his wariness, and doesn’t rush him. Instead she opens her arms, and waits half a minute until he steps into them. Then they are holding onto each other for dear life, and Newt is **sobbing**. No sound escapes where his face is buried in her neck, but he is shaking so badly he thinks he might just fly into pieces. All the fear of losing her is released, true, but the strain of holding it in has nearly destroyed him.

 

“I heard about the black edged letter,” she whispers. “I nearly hexed Solomon for that one, for all he’s a good man. They should’ve waited longer before scaring you like that. My poor husband and babies,” she murmurs, and her grip on him tightens.

 

“My poor wife,” Newt chokes out. “Going through everything and finally getting home, only to have to prop up your wreck of a husband while he bawls his eyes out at the sight of you.” He pulls back a little and manages a teary smile, and she laughs gently but doesn’t relax her grasp.

 

“You think I haven’t done my share of crying in your arms? Well then, I’d like to know what marriage you’ve been a party to for over fifteen years, because I must have missed it,” she chides gently. He huffs but can’t really laugh, not yet.

 

“I didn’t know what to think,” he murmurs, the tears beginning to ease off. “I wanted to hope, but it was so hard sometimes. And then after that letter, I felt completely lost. I knew you wouldn’t leave us if you didn’t have to, but...”

 

Tina strokes his hair tenderly. “I made you a promise, didn’t I? I swore I’d choose us when the decision was mine. It was a long, hard road getting back here, and I guess I’ll never be able to tell you everything that happened,” she says, and a hint of sorrow flickers over her expression briefly. “I know I left you all to fight, but I’m a woman of my word. I chose us. I always meant to come back.”

 

“I suppose I should never have doubted you,” he says dejectedly.

 

Her hand lifts to his cheek, and when he looks at her face he sees no reproach in it. “Actually, I think it was fair that you did. But I hope you don’t anymore.”

 

Newt’s reply is lost in the trampling of small feet downstairs, and shrieks of “MUMMY!” in three different voices. Tina lets go of Newt, and her arms are quickly full of their children. She strokes their daughter’s hair and kisses their older son’s cheek. She laughs and bounces Mattan on her hip, then says, “Oof, my duck, you really **are** getting heavy,” with a wide grin. The love and familiarity and comfort of it all swells in Newt’s heart.

 

And he finds that he can laugh, really laugh, for the first time in nearly three months.

 

And he feels the black fear dissolving in the golden light of joy.

**Author's Note:**

> A few points: 
> 
> VE Day was May 8, 1945. 
> 
> Tina is in her early 40s, which is a bit older to have a 3 year old, but I know someone personally who had a surprise baby like this. I picked the name Mattan because it is a Biblical Hebrew name meaning "gift".
> 
> I love the idea of flipping the trope of "wife waiting for husband to come home from war" into Newt waiting for Tina. Still, even caring for their family and pushing 50, I can't imagine Newt being idle in the war effort. So I made him a consultant.
> 
> Black-edged stationery to inform people of a death is a real thing.
> 
> People really did go missing for weeks at a time and turn up safe and sound.
> 
> The black and gold was not an intentional reference to Hufflepuff, but hey - if you think I'm that clever, I'll take it.


End file.
